Dependence
by Sephielya J. Maxwell
Summary: Directly following WWII, not all is right in Russia's newly enlarged house. Something is off with with head of the Soviet Union, but only one person knows exactly what it is.


A/N

Another writing commission done, this one for a friend on DA. More info on my DA journal. ;)

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The Second World War was over, and everything _should _have gone back to normal. Nations were reeling from the aftershocks, new lines being drawn, and Germany was nearly ripped apart. Gilbert had been forced into the Soviet, into Ivan's house. He wasn't the only one. Toris and his brothers were back under the same roof once again, meeting in their joint servitude of the nation who had so generously 'welcomed' them back. Ivan's house was very different from the last time that he had seen it. Everything was still the same old fashion, and yet all the rules were different.

No religion, no separation of class, no royalty and no nobility. Everyone was joined together in the Soviet Union; as if being together was the only thing needed to find happiness, even if by force. But the fact of the matter was, Toris didn't want to be here. Nor did his brothers, or Gilbert, and others. The Soviet Union of land was nothing more than an Empire under the guise of equality. "_Isn't this what you always wanted_?" Ivan had asked him just after the war. "_To be my equal._" The comment burned, and partly because it was a mockery of the truth. They may stand on the same level in this house, but they were not, would never be equals.

All of this was surely enough for the Lithuanian to have his hands full with adapting to his new life. However, all of those happenings still didn't compare to the last morsel added to his already overfilled plate. There was no delicate way to put it either. It was Ivan. He thought it might be an effect of one of the deadly chemicals in the war, or even some physical injury like shrapnel. The incarnations of nations couldn't be killed by anything like that, but they _could _be wounded. Perhaps it was even purely psychological. So many horrors had occurred within the wars—and before, and after. All that Toris knew was that Ivan couldn't _see. _That is, he was _blind._

Secretive as he was, the Russian didn't want anyone to know. Anyone that is except for his personal favorite the oldest of the Baltics. This was the heaviest burden for the Lithuanian to bear all on his own. Ivan's own personal care entrusted only to him, as well as the secret of his current disability. Honest as he was, Toris really didn't tell anyone. And so they had a routine, one that would allow the both of them to function without being fully found out. It was supposed to be temporary of course, just until Ivan's sight returned. It _would _return… right?

The mornings were almost normal. Toris would wake early, make breakfast and tea, and bring them to Ivan in his room. He would wake the Russian, guide his hands to the tray and show him what was what as he told him. He would then lay out the Russian's clothes, and wait for him to finish breakfast as they spoke about work. After breakfast, he would take the dishes back to the kitchen and wash them as Ivan dressed. Returning soon after, he would walk with the Russian to his office, as if nothing at all was amiss. Toris would speak quietly or gently nudge him if he misjudged a carefully counted step.

Once in his office, Toris would stay and read Ivan's paperwork aloud. He'd guide his hand to the lines for which ones needed to be signed, and separate the papers into finished, unlooked at, and set aside for later discussion. Come afternoon, Toris would leave to make lunch. The others did wonder why Ivan didn't take his meals with them, but they never questioned. Except for Natalya, who would fix the Lithuanian with a cool look as if she suspected something, but Toris was steadfast on his promise. Ivan wasn't feeling well, he was busy, he just 'didn't feel like it today'. All of those were viable reasons when it came to the moody Russian.

They would have lunch in Ivan's office, and Toris would do just the same as breakfast. Afterwards they would drink tea and talk, not about work, but about something else. Toris was always tense as they talked, never knowing quite what to say. His discontent was not unnoticed, but the Russian pretended not to know about it. The brunette would then clean the dishes, and bring his own work back to Ivan's office. To pass the time, he would read his own work aloud and they would discuss some of it. Of course sometimes Ivan pushed his own decisions forward onto the smaller nation, irking Toris to no end, but there was nothing he could do. "_Da, tovarich._" The smaller nation would say sourly, reminding the blond that they were supposed to be equals now.

After Toris' work was done it was always nearly dinner. Lithuania was in a bad state, and the workload was heavy. The two would retire to Ivan's sitting room, attached to his room. What went on in here, before or after dinner, Toris wouldn't ever speak of. He could only say to himself that Ivan's loss of vision didn't mean he didn't remember where everything was. Dinner was much the same as the other two meals of the day. And it was easier, too, not cooking for an entire household of nations.

After dinner he could again lay out Ivan's sleeping clothes, though this time he would stay as he changed, taking his clothing to put into the laundry. Today there had been nothing much of interest to come up between them, and in fact things had seemed rather lonely. Ivan hadn't wanted to talk very much, and so Toris'd had a lot of time to think for himself. Now that the Russian was ready for bed, Toris gathered the laundry in a basket, setting it by the door as he came over to turn off the light beside Ivan's bed. His wrist was grabbed gently.

"Stay, _tovarich._" It was Ivan's way of saying, _I'm asking you as an equal._ How could he resist?

"_Da, drug._" Toris replied with _yes friend, _when really his words said more. He clicked the light off, as neither of them needed sight for this. Ivan's hands on his clothing were as sure and deft as ever as he removed them.

And afterwards as they lay tangled together under the thick, warm sheets, Ivan nuzzled into the back of Toris' neck. He spoke softly, "Toryshka… If I don't get my vision…"

"You will." Toris cut him off, firmly. Ivan was quiet for a while, a tangible silence. After a few slow breaths, he relented.

"_Da._" Ivan said simply. Because if he didn't, he didn't know how long Toris could carry on this way… And as good as it felt to be taken care of, Ivan wished more than anything to see his favorite's face again.


End file.
